


Every Penny

by kalx58



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Commitment Kink, Dirty Talk, Dominant Ben Solo, Dominant Rey (Star Wars), F/M, Feelings Realization, Jealous Rey (Star Wars), Jealous sex, Love In the Time of Being Chill, Period Sex, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Rimming, Roleplay, Shower Sex, Switching, blended cocktail of sugar baby tropes with a shot of findom?, half of an over-the-underwear foot job, paying-for-sex roleplay, realizing you're okay, sex while doing something else, workout video induced horniness (sorry adriene)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalx58/pseuds/kalx58
Summary: She likes there’s nothing real about this, that it’s just a fantasy on even footing. No money, no gifts, even as a prop. No whiff of obligation. Nothing binding them except their shared want for this weird, intense thing.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 93
Kudos: 277
Collections: Kinkuary Prompt Challenge





	Every Penny

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Kinkuary](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/KinkuaryPromptChallenge/profile) prompt to write a kink you’ve never written before 
> 
> FYI, the sex scene in the paragraph beginning "A few weeks later, they do it again" has a rough-ish beginning, where they're described as grappling and struggling for a few seconds before they have sex. 
> 
> I think I’ve tagged everything, but please let me know if there’s something I should add!

It’s good. The platonic ideal of a hookup, even: Ben is a responsive texter. Smells nice. Ensures Rey’s orgasms with a frequency that makes him a statistical anomaly in the world of straight-guy hookups.

It’s easy. He never asks for anything. Seems content to bury his face in her cunt until she’s clawing at the comforter, then moving up her body to quietly press himself inside her, the fullness always a surprise. After they both come, he leaves. Everything is always very calm. Polite. Good.

And then he asks if they can talk. No, not at her place. Probably not—maybe that bar?

* * *

It was Poe’s fault. Poe, her best friend’s Finn’s—situation. Who, in his eagerness to impress Finn by impressing Rey (a losing battle, if she’s being honest, but she’s trying to keep an open mind), had not only offered to help her move, he’d even supplied additional muscle.

“Ben,” Poe had said with a flourish. “He loves moving.” Well, Rey had thought, looking at Ben—tall and and broad, with incongruously long hair, the kind that made her think of boy bands—you look like you’d be good at it.

Ben had been quiet as he’d helped, saying one word for every five of Poe’s. He’d come into the kitchen as Rey had been climbing from the counter to the fridge. As she’d sat on her knees and reached out her arms to unscrew the light fixture (her landlord didn’t deserve a free lightbulb), he’d made a noise.

“I’m not going to fall.” Rey had looked down, deciding how annoyed to be. I’ll allow it, she’d thought, feeling his gaze drift to her ass. He’d continued watching her. When she asked him to hand her the flathead on the counter, their fingers brushed. His, she realized, are huge. As she’d rescrewed the light fixture, she’d thought of those big fingers cupping her cunt, playing with her nipples, pressing into the flesh of her ass.

After the move, she’d offered them all thank-you burritos. Poe and Finn had other plans, so it had been just her and Ben, standing together at the taco truck, making polite small talk. Small talk that had died when Rey had been horrified to discover that her wallet was in her other tote bag, currently buried deep inside a moving box.

“Oh, no.” She’d kept digging in her pockets, re-searching her purse, like she’s trying to prove to him that it was a genuine mistake

“Don't worry about it.” For a few seconds, he’d just watched her frantic, frustrated movements, taking in her desperation before stopping her, placing his big hand on her wrist. “It’s fine. Seriously.”

She’d looked up at Ben, his curling hair, his earnest eyes. Smiling gratefully, she’d touched his forearm, letting it linger.

“Thanks. Maybe I could buy you a beer next week?”

* * *

They get the beer the next week. After one-IPA’s worth of pleasant-enough conversation she mainly sustains (make a joke, she internally pleads with him, her brain flitting to condom expiration dates as he looks over his glass at her, obvious anticipation in his eyes), they christen her new apartment’s couch.

This is exactly what I need, she thinks afterwards, while he deals with the condom. If she screws up her neck, she can see the red mark he’d left on her breast. A big dick, an eager mouth. Not knowing too much about each other. Casual.

* * *

And then it happened. It’s not like she wanted to make things weird. But one night, when he’d moved one of his legs to the floor, it had given him the leverage to press himself harder and faster into her, jolting her, shaking her bed. And so in turn, she’d dug her hands into his back, harder and faster, thrilled at the unexpected ferocity of his movements—finally, some fucking noise from him, grunts and growled out versions of her name that had increased in frequency once he’d realized that she was also trying to match his speed, also aiming for more more more—

She’d left marks, probably. The kind her last boyfriend had liked at first, then hadn’t. The same way all her enthusiasms—for sex, for time with him, for their relationship—had slowly started to repel him. Maybe Ben was the same. Maybe, when she’d whimpered his name and looked at him, dazed and impressed afterwards, he’d taken it as a warning. Some she-was-a-lot-dude danger sign. The kind of guy who saw any sign of human connection as a set trap.

Now she’s at the bar, waiting for Ben to deliver his verdict. Rey squeezes her Pabst can a little too hard. Some of it spills, and she’s licking it off her hand when he sits down. He’s wearing sunglasses, and has two hazy orange beers clutched in his big hands.

“Thirsty?”

“What? Oh. One’s for you. I didn’t realize you’d already got one.”

Maybe he’s that flavor of guy, the lightly sociopathic kind, who will buy her a drink before breaking things off with her.

“So.”

She takes another big sip. Fizzy and slightly sweet in that weird way Pabst is. She only sucked his dick once, she thinks wistfully. She’d liked the taste.

“I like what we’re doing.”

But it’s too much. I like you, but things are crazy right now for me. Shitty timing, you know. And you said you were also busy, right, so maybe it’s a good idea—I’ll see you around, right?

She’s composing her internal farewell missive to his dick (not just long, but thick, and so, so satisfying) when she realizes Ben’s not actually saying any of that. Instead he’s mumbling strange, halting sentence fragments. “Wait. There’s something you want?”

“Yeah.”

More silence. She cocks her head, noticing, maybe for the first time, the size of his ears and nose. She’s usually distracted by the size of other parts of him (aforementioned dick, that mouth.) “Like, a sex thing?” she asks eventually.

He groans, an innocent version of the sound he’d made when he’d bottomed out inside of her a few days ago, the one that had made her get a little too excited.

“Yeah.”

She’s impatient now. “So, you want to—?”

He picks up his glass and drinks a third of it, throat moving rapidly. “I want to try—pretend. Like I’m paying for it.”

It takes her a second. “And...I’m the it?”

“I’m totally fine not,” he says quickly.

“No, but like—you’re paying for sex? With—me?”

He drags a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We don’t—”

“Can you take off your glasses?”

“We really don’t have to. I just thought it would be hot, maybe.” Once the sunglasses are off, she can tell he’s aiming for it’s-whatever casualness, but he’s nervous, looking at her closely.

“But you’re not trying to do it for real, right?”

His eyes widen, the briefest amount. “I thought you wanted—casual.”

“No. Like, we wouldn’t actually. You know. Exchange—”

“Oh. Uh, no. Unless—”

She takes the second beer and sips it. “Have you done this? Like, the real version?”

“No.”

“But, this is a—thing you’ve done with other people? Like this kind of...roleplay?” She pushes the extra beer towards him.

He sips it. “No.”

But he wants to. With her. Rey isn’t entirely sure of the implications. Maybe it’s some control thing. Or he’s craving a shot of flattering hyper-femininity. Cooing and flirting and laughing at all of his jokes, no matter how funny they actually are. Well, she can’t give him that.

“If it’s too—”

“It’s not. I mean, I don’t even really know what you want.”

He’s been making steady eye-contact (please, it seems to say, I’m not a fucking weirdo, believe me) but his gaze darts for a second. A quick boomerang from her mouth to her chest. Then he looks back at her. “I mean, I just want to try. I’m not even sure what it would be like.”

A lie. Because he obviously must have some idea. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked for this. She finds she’s curious. Sure, she’ll try it. You just want to keep his dick and hands around, some part of her chides. No, she argues back. I’m open minded. Who knows. Maybe I’ll be into it.

And so she says yes, let’s at least try it, tipping back the rest of their beer, letting it soak into her blood and feed her curiosity and excitement. At first, he looks disbelieving. Then his gaze shifts to something else, something covetous and anticipatory, a look that makes heat build in her stomach.

* * *

Unfortunately, it seems like Ben hadn’t planned further than just asking. They end up at his place. He kisses her, pulls at her shirt. Same as usual, but he’s already breathing hard. Yet he’s silent, just gazing at her with a searching look, like he doesn’t want to break her. Like at any minute she’ll run.

On with it, she thinks. If he won’t, she will. And then she’ll decide if she wants to run. Pushing his hands away gently, she takes off her clothes and leans back against his pillows. It’s still early, bright sunlight on her bare skin. She reaches for him again, curling her arms around his neck, playing with his hair, drawing a small, eager sound from him. “Do you want to fuck me, Ben?”

“Yeah.”

“I want that too,” Rey says, letting her voice lilt. Unsure if this is what he wants, she keeps talking. “But I need more before we—”

“Didn’t I already pay you, though?”

Finally, something from that low, scraped-against-rocks voice of his she likes so much. She grins up at him. “Just a little more, Ben.” Slipping a bra strap off her shoulder, she reaches a hand into her bra to squeeze herself, staring at him as she plays with her nipple.

“It’s a lot.”

She ignores him. “Here, give me your hand.” Pressing his hand over hers, they squeeze her breast together, his grip greedier than hers. Then she drags his hand down. “Feel how much I want it?”

She keeps moving her hips, grinding her wetness against his big hand. He’s tensed over her, staring at his fingers twitching against her cunt. “Do you like it?” she sing-songs, leaning up to kiss below his ear.

Then she scoots away from him. He reaches out. She shakes her head. “You can’t touch me any more until you pay me.”

He’s breathing heavily now, his gaze toeing the borderline of uncomfortable, of too much.

When she reaches her hand down to circle her clit, she idly notices how wet this has all made her. Bargaining with him over how much her cunt is worth in the innocent midday sunlight. Making their just-sex relationship lewder, somehow. “Come on, Ben. It could feel so good.”

He stares. Then he lunges towards her.

“Fine, fine, whatever. Pay you whatever you want—” he growls, bending down to kiss her, pressing her back into the pillow. Everything seems to speed up. His dick smacks against his stomach as he yanks off his pants, only part of the way.

“Just let me—” With quick, jerky movements he rips open the condom. He can’t do it at first. He fumbles, looking angry and helpless as his cock slides around her wetness. Too excited, too nervous. Smiling, she grips him, setting his cock at her entrance, enjoying his frustration. Her eyelids flutter shut when he starts to move, shoving into her with a satisfied, ragged noise. And then—it’s like something has been unlocked. Because it’s faster. Louder, both of their voices higher. His enthusiasm makes him seem bigger as he moves above her, inside her.

Their sentences fall apart and come together again. He’s never talked during sex before, but now he can’t seem to stop. Telling her he’s never paid so much for this before, but her cunt might be worth it. (She feels the flickering beginning of her orgasm at that.) The way you feel, when you squeeze me like that—fuck. You know just what to do to make me come, don’t you? That’s why you’re getting all this money from me. (Almost. Almost. She’s so close—) And I don’t even care how much, Rey, I don’t, just please let me keep fucking you.

Then his sentences die out. As if all he can do now is grunt as he shoves in again, gasping as he comes. There’s a second where he just stares, panting at the sight of her twisting and arching and desperate below him. Then he bends, sucking on her nipple, rubbing the big pads of his fingers against her clit until she finally falls apart with a high whine that surprises her.

When they make eye contact again, both of them breathing hard, he’s looking at her in this—way. Almost as if he can’t believe they did this. That he can’t believe her. Like she’s special. Like her cunt, her body, the way she fucks him, all these things about her that she thought were unremarkable, are all a marvel. A prize, worthy of his time and money.

And as Rey finds out, she very much likes being the prize.

* * *

Their sex gets messier. Because Ben likes it so much. Even more so once he realizes how much Rey does, too. The tease and the negotiation, the frankness of his want for her. At first, he always seems a bit surprised. Grateful, even. Then it’s filling her, dripping down her face. Or tits, or ass. (She has a suspicion he aims for her freckles, sometimes.)

* * *

You want that necklace? Let me come on your ass. Then I’ll buy it. Actually, no I changed my mind—get up here. Do that thing I like. There you go. Feel so good, Rey.

After, Ben asks her to hand her his phone. Her fingers wake it up as she passes it to him. The aforementioned necklace is on the screen. A payment link, half filled out. She blinks, unsettled. She likes there’s nothing real about this, that it’s just a fantasy on even footing. No money, no gifts, even as a prop. No whiff of obligation. Nothing binding them except their shared want for this weird, intense thing.

“Ben. I don’t want you to actually buy me anything.”

“What?” He’s always a half-second slower to respond after he’s come. She has the flattering ability, she’s discovered, to dull his quick, searching brain. Then he realizes, his cheeks coloring. “Oh. I mean, it’s only $30.”

She’d sighed, and they’d talked. No, I’m not comfortable with you buying me things. But I get that this is part of it—no, I’m not saying I want to stop doing this. Relax. His mouth had twisted, slightly sulky. We’ll figure it out, she’d said. We can pretend. I have an idea, actually.

The next weekend she hands him something, folding his fingers into a fist around it. He opens, looking at it curiously.

She gasps at the sight of her necklace. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much,” she says, kissing him, grateful. He slips it over her head, fingers skimming her collarbone as he straightens it.

“Look how pretty you look,” he says softly.

“I love it. Thank you.”

She sinks to her knees in front of him. He fingers the strap of her bra. “Can you take this off?” He grins, playful and hungry. “Want to get my money’s worth.”

She unclasps it, enjoying how visibly he reacts. Short breaths, eyes on her nipples. “Keep the necklace on.” It’s brusque, which seems fitting—he’s in charge here, right?—but when she leans down again, his giant thighs quiver as she strokes over them.

“I know how expensive it was,” she coos. (In reality: two dollars from a street vendor, her face beaming with pride as she’d sold it to Rey three years ago.) “You’re so good to me, Ben.”

She sucks him, making it slow and sloppy then fast and noisy, enjoying the stretch of her jaw.

“Are you wet?” he asks eventually. She looks up at him with wide eyes, nodding slowly, keeping him in her mouth.

“Here.” He cups her jaw and urges her off. She stays on her knees, breathing in, blinking tears.

He hooks a big finger under the necklace and pulls gently. She leans forward, watching how he’s already impatiently stroking himself.

“Don’t get it on my necklace.” Pouting, she flips her hair behind her shoulders, straightening her posture.

“Well I bought it, sweetheart, so it’s technically mine, right?” he says, hand moving faster. (That thing, the sweetheart thing, is another part of it. She likes it.) “Fuck, Rey, fuck, fuck.”

(But he doesn’t get it on her necklace. Because he’s still Ben, who always immediately leans for a tissue after, dabbing almost worriedly at her. Even though she really doesn’t mind the mess.)

* * *

It’s not like Rey is a saint or anything. She likes stuff, likes money, having the new freedom to do frivolous things with it— reading an article about AOC’s lipstick one day and buying it at Sephora the next. But usually, she prefers just having it, watching the number in the bank grow higher and higher. Which makes it hard, sometimes, to figure out what to ask Ben for during their roleplay.

Sometimes they get absurd (her breathing sexily in his ear, it’s $19.99 and a quesadilla for a blowjob, I don’t accept Apple Pay.) Other times, she throws a haphazard dart, aiming for some kind of guessed-at verisimilitude: a...Chanel...Birkin bag? One night they’d been sitting on the couch in their underwear. She’d extended her legs into his lap. Started stroking her foot over his erection, she’d admired how her toes, red from a self-administered pedicure, looked against the black of his boxer briefs.

Hiking boots. I’d really, really like a pair, Ben, she’s said, continuing the light pressure through the fabric. Not enough to satisfy an erection that size. Not enough to satisfy Ben, with his seemingly boundless appetite for her. But he’d liked it, breathing hard as she continued, before he’d wrapped his hand around her foot, lifting her leg up, kissing the arch of it before placing it on the floor and tugging her shorts off. “All right. I’ll get you the nicest hiking boots at REI. Now let me fuck you, okay?”

This weekend, she bats her eyelashes as she sits in his lap, telling him no one has ever put their fingers in her ass before. (Something they both knew was a lie.) Well sweetheart, he’d politely inquired, what do I have to give you to let me do that?

“I’ve got a massive amount of student loans.”

“Massive,” he repeats quietly, replicating her accent. She’s always surprised, always pleased when he teases her.

“As massive as your—hair,” she says, patting it. Then she grabs his hands, placing one on her breast, the other on her ass. “So. Just pay my student loans and I’ll let you.”

“Oh, sure.” The hand on her ass starts to drift. “I’ll just email the US government real quick.”

She pouts. “I also have private loans. Sallie Mae.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says sadly. He watches her face as he circles her hole, how she shifts her hips to get his closer to his hand. “I’m sorry. Maybe you can consolidate those.”

“I’m already doing income-based repayment,” she informs him, reaching over to grab the lube. “And anyway, college should be free. Student debt shouldn’t exist.”

“I agree,” he says, pouring some on his fingers, slowly easing one thick finger into her ass, his other hand moving over her clit. “That’s part of why I voted for Bernie.”

She bursts out laughing, glad to see him grin back at her as he slides two fingers into her cunt.

* * *

“I’m not looking for any—this is, like, perfect for me,” she’d said early on. “Does that work?”

“Yeah. I’m not trying to date,” Ben had said, standing. She looks at the fingers, the dick, that have all been inside her. “I’m not good at that.”

Ha. She has him beat. Because Rey knows she has issues. Truly, the most boring, obvious kind: gaping parental abandonment-shaped holes, the kind that make her cling too hard and too fast to people (and alternately, make her push people away and turn her into a huge fucking bitch sometimes, if her college boyfriend was to believed.) When it came to relationships, she wanted and she wanted and she wanted until something went wrong.

And it’s perfect, really, that Ben just wants the same thing. Because now she’s grown up enough to recognize her patterns. Had enough heart-to-hearts with her college roommate Rose, realized some uncomfortable truths, read some library books about attachment theory. Now she nods along to enough Instagram captions about working on yourself before starting a new relationship. And one day, she’ll fix those things about her, the way she did with cars when she was younger, the way she does with plane parts now. But later. Not now. Now, all she can handle, all that she can give people without hurting herself, is the kind of thing she’s doing with Ben: casual.

* * *

“I want something,” Rey announces, crawling up the bed towards him. “One of those fake Snuggie things that are more like a poncho?”

Ben doesn’t look up from his phone, reaching out a hand to stroke her knee idly. “Yeah, sweetheart? Well, you’ve gotta earn it.” He pats his thigh.

So she climbs on his lap and peels off her shirt, enjoying how his eyes get lidded, how his Adam's apple bobs when he sees her tits. Reaching her hand down into his briefs, she strokes him slowly, kissing his mouth, his jawline, scraping her teeth around his ear the way she knows he likes.

Eventually, he slaps her ass lazily. “Gotta do more than that, Rey. You want it?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, kissing his cheek.

“Here, get on my dick and show me.”

She does. Sighing as she settles around his cock, making it obvious how much she likes it. But he still looks (infuriatingly) calm. As if he’s no longer as impressed by her cunt as he usually is. And Rey knows that his boredom is false, part of their thing—they usually follow each other's leads, and today’s theme seems to be her really working for it. Her competitive streak, however, makes her want to convince him. Win something from him.

“You know Ben, you’re the only one I let come inside me,” she whispers eventually. (It’s more fun than she’d thought, coming up with fake scenarios—other people, deciding to let him come inside her on a whim, instead of the reality of their awkward, no-STIs-her conversation.)

“Trying to make me jealous?”

“No. Just wanted you to know.” She smiles, rolling her hips.

He leans back, tracing a finger around her nipple. “Why?”

She shrugs, the motion making her breast shake, looking at him innocently His eyes follow the movement, before he looks at her, eyes sharp.

When he reaches up to whisper in her ear, it makes his dick thrust up. She struggles to remember their game, fighting the urge to just collapse against him and beg. “Is it because I pay you the most? That’s why I’m the only one allowed to come in your pretty cunt?”

“No, no,” she reassures, stroking her hands down his chest. “It’s because you’re the only want I want to feel.”

His eyes shut, and he lets out a small sound. She doesn’t know if it’s what she said, or how she squeezed her cunt around him as she did. “Come on. Don’t you want to come, Ben?”

He flops his head back on the pillows, thrusting his hips up. “What about you, Rey? Tell me what you want. You like it? Feeling me come inside you?”

She nods slowly from her perch on top of him, watching his hitching, desperate breaths. “No one else feels like you do, Ben. Love how big you are, how it feels when there’s nothing, and I get to feel it when you come. Please, Ben?”

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” he chokes out as he comes. .

(After, when she’s sprawled out on the bed, tired, he stares at her cunt: her lips slightly puffy, his come dripping down her thighs. “This is why I pay you,” he says softly, reaching out a hand to rub her clit. She’s so sensitive, she starts shifting above home, her thighs moving. “Love seeing you like this, Rey. Do you think you can come again? While you’re tired and still messy from me?”)

* * *

“I made too much food last night. Want some?”

At the moment, Rey is only thinking of her giant Tupperware of pasta, how she’s already sick of it. (A distressing vegan alfredo sauce, aggressively cashew-y.) Then the thoughts start: oh, should you have asked him that? Maybe he’ll think you’re going too far, being too much. Am I asking him to stay because I want to? Or because of my insecurities? He seems like he likes spending non-sex time with me. But can I actually trust my instincts? She looks away, sick of the fucking 4-D chess, the constant, self-monitoring chimes in her head. It’s exhausting.

Eventually, she looks back at him. At first, Ben seems confused. Then weirdly moved, thanking her too earnestly, complimenting the food too seriously as they eat it. (It’s really not that good.) But it’s nice, eating with him: his impeccable table manners, the way he barks at her that he can do the dishes. They talk about her and Finn’s upcoming taco crawl, his lack of weekend plans.

It becomes easy, talking with him. Once you know you’re both into some freaky shit, the rest is simple, Rey figures. They get comfortable enough to tease each other: his tendency to proclaim things. Her bad handwriting. You seriously have a sex candle, Ben?

(Well it worked on you, right?

Yeah, Ben it’s the candle. That’s why I’m so wet. Cedar. So tell me, do you burn it before and after?

No, just before. Obviously. I like the way you make my sheets smell.)

Both of them, she notices, do the same thing whenever the topic of family comes up: they skate around it, fast, looping backward circles, getting further and further away from the original question. A red flag? Or a kindred spirit? Rey finds herself thinking. Not that it matters. Since they’re casual.

* * *

“You okay?”

Everything she’s shut tonight has ended up as a slam. She’s talking less, her sentences tighter. Rey curls into herself on the chair. He’s sitting on the couch, looking at her patiently. “I’m in a bad mood. Sorry. Today was stupid.”

The entry level salary had seemed huge when they’d offer it. The most money Rey had ever had in her life. But it’s one of those months where she’d had a few doctor's appointments, some expensive prescriptions, a pricey cabin weekend her coworker Jannah had floated. Her old fears about money, of safety, had started scratching at her again.

“Should I—” he half-stands, ready to leave.

“No,” she snaps, then sighs. “Sorry. I don’t want to take it out on you.”

He sits back down. She watches his hand twitch, his rapid blink at her words. “I mean, you can.”

He’s offering himself up. Letting her transform her anger into something else, something she can hurl at him. She’s grateful. And then, without really being conscious of it, another thought, sharp and glinting with cruelty appears in her mind: aw, the pretty rich boy wants me to be mean to him?

Once Rey realized that Ben was actually rich (a casual mention from Poe that Ben is his only friend likely to be able to afford real estate, Ben’s oblique reference to family money) she’d worried it would add a new dynamic. Would she be uncomfortable, now that she knew they were playacting the exact same roles as their tax brackets? But the comfortableness remained, the kink carving out their own universe, insulated from the rest of the world.

And she’s glad for it. But right now as he settles back into his couch, looking at ease, his hair a perfect wave, with all his subtle, tasteful things around him—she feels the financial difference between them. In some kind of irritating, acute way, that blooms alongside the want she always feels around him.

So she stands, marching over to him, pulling her clothes off, throwing them carelessly onto his spotless hardwood floor. She jerks her head. “Come on. Get it out.”

He’s quick about it, looking up for her approval when his pants and underwear are shoved down.

“Shirt, too.”

When that’s off, she presses a hand against his chest to stabilize herself, sinking down on his cock slowly, taking a second to adjust. Then she starts moving, rolling her hips so her clit bumps his stomach. Her hands clasp behind his neck for leverage as she moves faster. His breath whooshes out of him. Usually this is something they share. But right now, she’s the one fucking him.

“All that money you don’t know what to do with. So you spend it on this.”

She sounds angry. Very angry. He swallows.

“I think it’s actually pretty well spent,” he says, tilting his neck back when she darts forward to scrape her teeth against it.

When they make eye contact again, he’s cocky, wide mouth tugged into a grin. Like he’s enjoying it, being the recipient of her anger.

She frowns. “It’s so stupid. You could fuck some girl in a bar. Donate the money to charity.”

Her words don’t seem to bother him. Another curling, lazy grin. She could stab that dimple, she really could. “I don’t want some girl in a bar. Want you. And I can get that.”

He lets out a startled noise when she lifts her hips higher and shoves back down. It’s another one of those nights where she’s reminded just how big he is. He lifts both hands, groping her breasts lazily. He leans to suck on her nipple, another hand moving to her clit.

“Every dollar I spend. You’re worth it, Rey.”

It’s almost a snarl, the sound she makes as she fucks herself down on him, her eyes shut, angry about how wet it all makes her. He holds her hips obediently as she rides him, grinding and circling her hips, completely unconcerned with what might feel good to him.

After—“You like this?” she’d hissed, clawing his hair, digging her fingers into his back, trying to maintain her meanness, while he’d panted “Oh, fuck,” jerking beneath her—she slumps against his chest.

“Sorry if that was—” she mutters. “It’s not actually—”

“Don’t worry,” he says, smoothing a hand over her hair. “You’re good.”

* * *

One afternoon when he’s about to leave, he pauses too long after she asks him a question. Curious, she turns, tugging her leggings over her thong.

“Big plans?” he asks, staring at her ass.

“There are these yoga videos I do.” He hasn’t moved. “What, you wanna watch?”

She meant it as a joke, but as she watches him work his jaw, she realizes: oh, you really do. She thinks about it for a half-second before deciding. Why not? So she walks over, grabs his hands and places them on her ass. “You can, but it’s extra.”

As the video plays, she tries to ignore him. The way his legs are spread. How he rests his hand on his dick when she pushes back into downward dog. How he dips his hand into his briefs to squeeze himself as she lights and folds her leg back into three-legged dog. When she sinks into a low lunge, she grabs her ankle and twists to look at him: slouched back into the couch as he jerks off to the sight of her working out. It’s fun being on display like this, she thinks, arching her back, pedaling her legs. But she wants more.

“You know, I’d let you fuck me again,” she calls.

And so the next time before she slowly elongates into a forward fold, he walks over, pants unbuttoned. Their hips meet, his erection pushing against the thin fabric of her yoga pants. He releases her as she moves into another stretch, but when she’s in child’s pose, arms extended in front of her, she feels his hands on her waistband, yanking at her leggings. Her thong, he doesn’t pull down. Just moves it to the side as he pushes in, fucking her while the video keeps playing, Yoga with Adriene none the wiser.

A few weeks later, they do it again. A kickboxing video, this time. She doesn’t even notice how furiously he’s jerking himself, because she’s so focused on the workout, her heart pounding, blood flowing, trying to remember the moves. And so, when he touches her, there’s a brief struggle, them grappling, where she tries to shake him off at first before she realizes. Then they’re on the couch, him urging her beneath him. Her wiggling and thrusting her hips up, him grabbing for her, his cock slipping between her warm thighs as he kisses the sweat off her neck.

* * *

“I told you,” Rey says, walking past him, sinking down on the couch, taking out her phone “I’m getting busier.”

Ben frowns, confused from his spot on the chair.

She picks up a random book from the coffee table and flips through it. “I don’t think you’ll fit into my schedule anymore.”

He stares at her for a second. Then he gets it, stands and throws himself down next to her. Moves her hair, kisses her neck, speaks quietly. “Please?”

She shifts, shaking him off her, reading the book (Russian history?) ostentatiously, skimming over paragraphs about the Duma Committee. He interrupts her a few minutes later, his leg jiggling. “I can pay more.”

Another paragraph. She learns about Maria Spiridonova. When she glances at Ben again, he’s watching her ignore him, and—she squints—he looks half hard. “I don’t need more money, Ben.”

His palm settles over her thigh, warm through the thin fabric.

“Did I say you could touch me?”

He pulls away, passing his hand over his crotch and squeezing. “Come on, Rey. Please let me. I’ll do anything.”

She looks at him pityingly. Still holding the book in one hand, she undoes the tie of her robe. Her naked body peeks out from the gaps in the fabric. As he watches, she rubs her clit, then moves her fingers down to her entrance, spreading her arousal around her cunt.

“Can I?”

She nods. And when she extends her wet fingers, he reminds her of what his mouth can do, licking and sucking with more passion than the task requires.

“Is there anything else you want?” he asks hopefully. She considers. Then puts the book down, opening the robe the entire way, spreading her legs. He follows her gaze to the ground between her legs.

A few minutes later, she’s trying to avoid smacking him in the face. “Trying to impress me?” she gasps.

“Just want to show you how much I appreciate you,” he says innocently from his spot on the ground. It’s probably uncomfortable, she realizes.

“Get up,” she says. “I want to come on your cock.”

And she does. (“Don’t come,” she whispers. “You said you want to keep doing this? You like it so much you’d pay for this, even without coming?”)

After, they sit back down, and she picks up the book again, pretending to read. He’s red and sweaty, his still-hard dick tucked into his boxers, the flushed head jutting over the waistband.

“Please, Rey. ”He keeps sighing, his big eyes doing the begging for him.

“Please what, Ben?”

“Let me make you come again.” It’s desperate. His words, his motions, big and urgent, urging her to stand, then sit back down. He makes her come again, this time on top of his face.

And after, she slides down his body, resting her head on his chest, panting.

“Now I remember why I like you so much,” she says quietly. “That was so good, Ben. You’re so good.”

She traces a finger around his plump bottom lip, smearing the wetness around lazily. “I might be able to make room in my schedule. Maybe.”

“I’ll pay double,” he chokes out, still impossibly hard against her belly. “Whatever you want.”

She smiles up at him benevolently. “Do you want to come, Ben? You look frustrated.”

“Please, Rey. Please.” He says it like she might rip the tablecloth away from under him.

She pretends to examine an imaginary manicure. “Fine.” She lays across the couch, pulling him on top of her. “You have to do all the work, though.”

When he thrusts inside her, his expression is so blissful it’s almost pained-looking. She watches the expressions on his face as he shudders and moves above her, the openness, the ecstasy, and then finally, the disbelief at how quickly he comes. She smiles, enjoying it all.

* * *

When Ben stays over the first time, she meets a different side of him. He’s usually a bit aloof, always circumspect in what he says, polite in his actions. You’re like a cat, she’d thought at first, as they were getting ready for bed. Quiet, tensed, eyes tracking her movements. He’d barely said anything. (“You should talk now,” she’d half-joked, sick of trying to sustain conversation, worried that she had done something wrong. She liked his stillness, but this was excessive. “Okay,” he’d said, blinking, thinking, in a visible, almost audible way, before finally, hesitantly telling her, in extreme detail, all about a podcast he’s listening to on the Iran-Contra scandal.)

The morning is different. Because now she gets to see who he is in the morning, before he shrugs into his reserve. Kind of a complainer, it turns out. He grumbles about the half-inch gap between her blinds and the window, the light that leaks in (she likes it, likes how it makes her rise with the sun). He sighs frequently, flopping around, freezing when she whispers his name at five a.m.

“Here,” she whispers blearily, shoving her dollar-store eye mask at him.

It’s hanging over one big ear when they wake up. She grins at him from across the pillows. I like you now, too, she thinks. Even as he complains some more about how he slept, rolling his shoulders and grunting, shifting impatiently around the bed. Eventually, she takes out her vibrator and politely asks if he wants to use it on his neck.

He grabs it, inspects it, and asks if she’s ever tested how many times she can come in a row. “Like, for science.”

* * *

If she’s overintellectualizing, if she had to explain to Finn, here’s why I let this ten-years-older guy that I barely know pretend he’s paying to have sex with me: see, there’s this layer. You know that thing when you’re hooking up? Like, the worry that someone is taking it more serious than the other? This, the pretense of payment, adds a layer. It’s like having an extra drink—a way to loosen their inhibitions, giving them an excuse, the ability to be as weird, as exploratory as they want with each other, without the fear that one of them is being too much.

A month or so into their thing, it’s still that. But it keeps twisting and warping, a new theme starting to peek through.

* * *

“You’re sure?”

Your ears look so big right now, she wants to tell him. The steam rises around them. “Yeah,” Rey says. And she shouldn’t vocalize it, because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it, but she’s just never done it on her period before, and she can’t help but ask: “And you’re—?”

“Good,” is all he says. He smiles, water dripping down his cheeks.

He rubs his hands together briskly, lathering her soap. The orange blossom scent of her shower gel floats around them. He keeps talking as he soaps her thoroughly, hands sliding up her thighs, big enough to span them, almost, down her back. He even bends to soap her ankles.

“This is what I pay you for. To touch you wherever I want.” She thinks he’ll punctuate that with the obvious. A grope on her ass or boobs, tilting her head back to kiss her neck. But instead he bends. There’s the loud sound of his knees bonking against her tub as he soap her calves.

“Whenever I want,” he continues, standing. He bends to suck her cold nipples, then gently turns her so she’s facing the wall of the shower, her back and lower body still under the spray.

“Doesn’t matter, Rey,” he says quietly, as he pushes into her cunt. Easy, easy. It’s always so easy, she thinks, shifting, widening her stance as he fills her. Because I want you so much. Even when I’m on my period and feel unmoored in her body, I want this: your dick, its size, reminding her what pleasure feels like. “I don’t care. Because I always want you, Rey.”

Her hands curl, but there’s just the slickness of the tile. Nothing to grab onto, cling to for safety because that, that thing he just said, is exactly what she likes. Likes, but shouldn’t, because she knows it’s tied to her validate-me-baby abandonment issues, the ones she’s trying to excise before she gets into a real relationship. But she can’t control the sharp throb of want, how she clenches around him, shocked, silently hoping he continues.

And he does. “I hope you don’t get tired of this,” he says, as he fucks her slowly. “I want to do this again and again. As long as you let me, I’ll keep paying you.”

He thrusts, squeezing her breasts, easing up a little when she whispers that they’re sore. When she comes, the orgasm erases her cramps. As she rests her forehead against the tiles, she tiredly wonders if he’s cold as he thrusts into her, if she’s hogging the spray. He washes her one more time after, and she pulls him into the hot water. Neither of them mention what he said.

* * *

Ben taps his phone in the valley between her breasts. “Okay, you’re officially Venmo-d. Now, come on. Turn over and let me eat your ass.”

She rolls on the bed, propping her head on her crossed arms. Arching her back, she presents herself to him. His fingers slide under her red thong, kissing where he peels it away, nosing against her.

“The other girls never let me do this,” he whispers. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

Oh, how wet she gets at that. Even though she knows it’s fake. Fake on top of fake. And it’s surprising, because this had started as his idea. But it had turned out to be malleable, this thing of his, and he’d shown himself to be extremely interested in the branches that had splintered off, the doorways revealing things she’d found she enjoyed.

Like this. The jealousy, making her coarser, more impatient, wetter, dripping onto his sheets as he licks around her hole, ignoring her begging. She whines, too far gone for embarrassment, and he shushes her, rubbing his thumb around her hole.

“Finger me,” she demands after a short while. He does. One finger in her cunt, too gentle. “Harder, Ben, come on.”

“I get to decide,” he chides. “I’m the one paying you, remember?”

She clutches the comforter, growling.

“Seems like you like it,” he says, ignoring her, his tongue continuing to flick and prod. “Would you do this for free, Rey? Let me lick you everywhere, make you come over and over? Smile in that way you do when I fuck you?”

He moves, and then she feels his cock, easily pressing into her dripping cunt. “Look at how wet you get for me,” he says with a grunt. “My pretty, needy little Rey. Come on. Tell me how much you like it.”

“Ah, I do, Ben, I do—”

She whines, too far gone for embarrassment. He shushes her, rubbing his thumb around her hole as he pulls out, almost all the way, before sinking back in, fast enough that she moans.

“Never going to get tired of fucking you,” he whispers, kissing her back, before straightening and starting a merciless rhythm. And again, it’s exactly what she likes—the commitment, being claimed—in a distilled form. A wax dab, the unmixed sugar syrup at the bottom of the cup. Too much for most circumstances, but perfect here, said into her ear while they’re fucking, while she can admit just how much she likes it. “What do I have to do to keep you, Rey?”

* * *

No, don’t come over here yet. Stand there. Take off your clothes. Slower. Turn around. Now, bend.

(“I’m genuinely impressed. I can’t do that,” he’d said. “Anyone can touch their toes, Ben.” “Tall people can’t.” “No offense, but you’re full of shit. Remember, I do yoga? I’ll help you.”)

I don’t want to have sex yet, Rey. Maybe not even at all tonight. What, you don’t like that? You look mad. Aww, you’re so wet. Just from kissing me. Here, keep kissing me. Maybe I’ll change my mind and fuck you. Or maybe not. It’s whatever I’m paying you for, right?

(He falls asleep in her lap once, his fingers clinging to her thigh. She gives herself a night off from worrying, ignoring the self-flagellating flares in her brain—you like this because you’re lonely and have issues, remember this is supposed to be casual, god you’re a cliche, one-to-one swaps of romantic and sexual relationships for parental figures. Instead, she just enjoys the feel of his hair, how it slips through her fingers as she strokes it, his short, even breaths tickling her bare skin.)

“Again, really?” “Oh, come on. Like you’re not always wet for me. Aren’t you flattered? What if I paid you for the whole night. Whatever I wanted. As many times as I wanted. As fast or slow as I wanted. Anywhere I wanted to.”

(“Your form is weird,” he says, panting. She’d been headed out on a run, found out he was going to the gym. It was a last minute invitation, but she’s glad he joined her. Even if he’s being a pedant. “I beat you,” she says. He shows her what he means, thick fingers circling her ankle. “The balls of your feet, Rey. And your hips—like this.” She frowns and says hmpf a lot, but takes it under consideration.)

* * *

One morning, Rey wakes and reaches for her water glass. Ben and the stupid 8.5% double IPAs he likes. As she shifts away from his warmth, Ben makes an offended noise. When she curls back under his arm he hooks a leg over hers, slotting his dick between her cheeks, grinding.

“Love your ass,” he says, voice sleepy and low, mouthing at the back of her neck. “It’s crazy how so much of you is small and tough. But your ass is like, the opposite.”

What?

“Ow! Those were my kidneys. What the fuck, Rey?”

“‘Small and tough’? You make me sound like a bad piece of fruit.”

“I’m complimenting you,” he says, offended, shoving his hips against her in punishment. “Now listen.” His hand finds her breast, covers it, pinching her nipple. “If this was for real, whenever I’d see you across the room, I’d be like, ‘That’s my ass,’” he says, voice still groggy.

She snorts. “So just my ass? That’s all I’ve got going for me?”

“No.” His hands stay on her cheeks, just squeezing. “Want to make some extra cash? I’d make you go to all my work things. My family shit. I’d pick out your underwear beforehand and fuck you after you made small talk with everyone for me. You’re a good talker—”

“Not really.”

“Better than me. I’d take you and make you be the charming one. Like how I have to see my parents later. You’d distract them.”

He arranges them so she’s on her stomach. She looks back to see him behind her, the covers slipping down his hips, his hair messy, with volume unattainable to Rey unless she uses an ozone-depleting amount of hairspray.

She feels his cock slip through her thighs, unsatisfying. “And you’d just coast?”

“No,” he mumbles into her ear, thrusting, reaching to twist her nipple. “I’d make it worth it. Buy you shit. Cook for you.”

He grinds against her, her breasts filling his palms, and then releases her with an annoyed grunt when his alarm goes off. Heaving himself out of bed, he stands. They both look at his near-horizontal erection.

“Stupid,” Ben says to it. Rey laughs. She likes the looser, grumpier, slightly pathetic morning Ben.

“Want to get coffee?” he asks. Sure, she says. Even though I don’t need to—and then the fall into a back and forth they’ve had before, where he acts shocked and personally offended that she doesn’t require coffee every day (I’m used to getting by on the bare minimum of everything, she imagines telling him. That includes affection, material goods and luxuries, which I’m including coffee in. Kind of fucked up, huh? But at least I recognize it. Progress, right?) She prods at his pre-coffee grumpiness, messing with his hair, makes him think she’s ordering him an oatmilk latte instead of his beloved, “Pour over. The Ethiopian. No room. Please.”

They talk at the coffee shop until he has to meet his parents at the restaurant next door. Before he leaves, he squeezes her hand. As she watches him walk away, Rey realizes it’s probably the most innocent way they’ve ever touched.

* * *

Early in Rey’s friendship with Finn, when they were younger and unformed, she’d been a little crueler. Accidentally. She’d say things without realizing, hadn’t yet learned to think through what she was saying, how her face and tone couldn’t imply things she didn’t necessarily mean

“It was just a joke,” she’d reassure Finn, trying to Band-Aid over her inadvertent hurt, wanting more than anything to make it all okay again.

This thing with Ben reminds her of that. Rey, you’re my favorite. Ben no one makes me come like you do. I’d do anything to keep doing this. Both of them have a foolproof, take-back button if things ever get blurry. Oh, I obviously didn’t mean that. It was just part of our game.

But maybe we don’t need it, the added layer, this safeguard against any sort of earnestness, she thinks, as Ben’s body undulates like a wave over her. I’d let you come on me, tell you how much you want me, without this distance. Do you want that? Or do you want, need this thing between us?

* * *

They decide to go out. Her idea. Ben picks the bar: staid, expensive drinks, men in suits (“Had a lot of meetings here for my old job,” he’d said vaguely, wincing at little when they’d walked in, has hand warm on the seam of her underwear through her dress.)

Some other couple, older, began talking to them at the bar. Or rather, the man had started talking to Ben. Rey and the guy’s wife had just silently beamed at each other. Another round and the woman had gushed to Rey about what a cute couple they were. Rey had smiled, put her arm on Ben’s, tittering for the first time in her life at his self-deprecating joke.

Another drink. Rey sees the couple takes in her constant giggling, their dawning realization of how little Ben and Rey seem know about each other: Rey’s breathy wonder as Ben drones about his job; how Ben frowns and says that he thought she was majoring in math, not mechanical engineering. How, right now, they’re cartoonish advertisements for the most retrograde kind of heterosexual relationship: the way he never stops touching her, even squeezing her ass in front of all of them; his indulgent attitude, tinged with just the slightest bit of condensation as she winces at the taste of his whiskey; how she cackles at everything he says, keeps complimenting him, tosses her hair. How openly he looks at her, with a possessiveness that’s a little indecent for public consumption.

Then she whispers in his ear, as the other woman looks on with mild horror at how high he has her skirt hiked up (big hands, what can you do?) “Sure, baby,” Ben says adubily, smiling at her. Rey spins on her borrowed heels, announces that they’re leaving. So nice to meet you both!

When they get back to her place, he presses her against the door and kisses her slowly, making his way down her body, until he’s on the floor, mouthing at her cunt through her underwear. “Get down here. Please.”

So she’d climbed on him, hitching her dress up, settling him like a queen. They claw and pull at each other until they both come. After, she rubs his head (he hit it on the floor when he came) while he smiles at her sleepily.

* * *

“Look at the little smudge on his nose. He’s such a messy little cat,” Rey croons. “Should I get him?”

Ben stares at the PetFinder link she’s shoved in front of him, his face falling.

“What, you don’t like Bucatini?”

“No, just—it’s sad.” He nods at the screen, the text underneath she hadn’t bothered to read. Abandoned by his family. A first owner’s death, a second owner realizing he couldn't have cats at his new place.

“Oh,” she says, putting her phone down, feeling her heart clenching with sadness. Then the sharp edge of a memory pokes into her brain: another ex, telling her, half-jokingly, wow, you cry so much, I thought you were so tough, Rey. Then it twists: Ben doesn’t want to see that. He’s here for sex and fun. Then there’s a wave of meta-embarrassment. She doesn't need to feel bad about her normal human emotions.

But when she looks back at him, his eyes are still wide with an earnest sadness. Similar to hers. Too much for the situation, some people might say.

“Look at us,” she says, attempting a smile. “We’re so emotional.”

“You’ve got to adopt that fucking cat,” he says solemnly, turning back to his phone. “And rename it. That’s a stupid name.”

* * *

Poe’s party is objectively good—good music, good people, good snack spread, but it’s all slightly exhausting. Much like Poe himself, Rey thinks, looking for Ben again, wanting to finish their conversation about high school Ben’s flirtation with stoicism. She’d liked running into him. He’d tapped his fingers on his beer, looking at her almost shyly, like they were strangers. Like he’d never whispered in her ear about how much he loved coming inside her. (“No one feels like you do. Like leaving you like this, full of my come. Come on, tell me you like it, too.”) When they’d smiled at each other over the mini-quiches, it felt like they were sharing a secret.

When she finds Ben again, his discomfort is obvious. He’s standing with Poe and a few other people, talking to a girl with a good haircut and a cool-looking tattoo. They’re not strangers, Rey thinks from their body language, but neither seem to be that happy about their conversation. She keeps tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Ben keeps nodding and looking past her.

And Rey, without really thinking about why, joins the group, standing next to Ben and handing him a beer she’d grabbed for herself, smiling politely at the girl and starts talking to Poe. She doesn’t interrupt them, but soon, Ben and the girl rejoin the group’s broader conversation.

When the conversation dies out, and people scatter for more drinks, she feels his hand rest on her lower back. “Not sure how long you’re planning on staying, but—”

“Yeah.” It’s such a small touch. She shouldn't be this warm . “Let me say bye to Poe.”

When she hugs Poe, she asks it casually.

“Ex. Broke up last year, I think?” he says, finishing the rest of his White Claw. Rey nods, tells him thanks again, hugs Finn.

They stand outside in the cold, outside of Ben’s car. He has heated seats, he’d whispered in her ear as they left.

“This isn’t too intense, right?”

She’s taking off her bike wheel to fit it into his car. Initially, he’d made motions like he wanted to help, but now he’s just standing there uselessly. She looks up at his voice. “Um?”

“Like, what we’re doing. With, uh—”

It always seemed to come down to that one stupid word. Intense. Stupid and meaningless. Shifting, creative definitions, depending on which of Rey’s former partners you talked to: too much anger, too many tears, too many declarations of love, too many requests to meet the parents (she’d be so good at it, would be more than happy to be dragged along to any stupid family obligation.)

“No.” Rey shoves the rest of her bike in his trunk. She makes her voice firm. No room for doubt, for insecurities, his or hers. “We’re good. As long as you’re—?”

“Yeah.” He slams the trunk shut. “Ready?”

When they get to his apartment, Rey takes the lead, pulling him by the hand to his couch. He sits, watching as she perches on his lap.

“I saw you talking to her,” she murmurs in his ear, after a kiss that’s a little too hard. He tenses, and she adds quickly, thinking of his ex’s blonde hair: “The red haired girl.”

He looks interested. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. You talked to her a long time. I hope it was interesting.” She starts at his ear, then continues kissing him, following the line of his neck.

“You sound jealous, Rey.” His hands wind around her waist, holding her on his lap, and he presses his hips up.

“I’m just surprised. I thought you liked me, Ben.” She unbuttons his pants and slides her hand in, feeling him half-hard. She squeezes gently, cocking her head.

“I do, sweetheart.”

She straightens on his lap, peeling off her shirt. “I thought you liked my boobs.” She presses her hands on his hair, guiding his head.

“I do,” he says, letting go of her lace covered nipple.

She stands, pulling off her pants and underwear, pirouetting halfway, sliding her hand down. “I thought you liked my ass?”

He palms his dick through his unbuttoned jeans and leans forward. A big hand on her back encourages her to bend, and she places her palms on the table, pushing her hips back toward his face. She feels his fingers, then his mouth, as his hands hold her steady.

She lets him do that for a while, listening to the wet sounds as she looks around his living room. Then she straightens, and pushes his shoulders back onto the couch. “You said I was yours.”

“You are.” She believes him. That voice, that gaze. Intense, intense, intense.

“Then I just don’t see why you need to be flirting with some other girl.” She grasps her breasts, sliding her nipples between her fingers. Placing a knee on either side of his thighs, she continues rolling and pinching them, sighing as she stares. “I don’t want to share, Ben.”

“Wasn’t flirting—” he says, sounding choked, mouth trembling a little.

She cocks her head, leaning forward, placing her breasts in front of his mouth. He nods quickly, leaning forward.

Then she sits back on his thighs, moving out of his way. He looks dumbly at her boobs, now out of his reach, reaching a hand out. She grasps at his pants and underwear and then he takes over, pulling them down with one hand while keeping her balanced on his lap with his other arm.

“I saw her looking at your mouth,” Rey whispers, dragging her index finger along his bottom lip as she sinks down on him. She keeps it there as his mouth drops open a little more, then kisses him as she starts riding him. “I thought I’m the only one who gets to look at you like that.”

He pants. She stops moving, digs her hands into his hair. “You said no one else fucks you like I do. Last time, you said you liked how I was always wet for you. That you couldn’t keep up, that tire you out said. I thought you said I could use you. Did that stop being true? You want something new?”

She grinds her hips around, making direct eye contact, enjoying the way he looks completely overwhelmed, eyes almost black. “Right, Ben?”

“Fuck, Rey, yes. Only want you. No one else,” he gasps, his hands squeezing her ass restlessly. “Please move. Please.”

She starts moving faster, and then he’s burying his face in her chest, holding her breast to his mouth as he jams himself into her, again and again, impatient motions, his grip rough. You’re mine, she thinks. Want your sweat, the wide-eyed way you look at me, want to bite your neck as you gasp.

What is this? she thinks. This isn’t their fantasy. Is she a businesswoman trying to keep her best-paying client, a jealous girlfriend, a lonely person trying to convince herself that something’s real when it isn’t?

Whatever it is, it works for Ben. He comes, choking her name, clutching her hips. As she comes a few seconds later, she wonders which version he was imagining.

* * *

The next day, she gets tacos with Finn. She still feels weird about the night before, keeps replaying it as she waits for Finn at the taco truck. It’s fine, she reassures herself. Ben didn’t act strange in the morning. It’s healthy, probably. A way to play-act any feelings that shouldn’t be there, to excise anything that would be bad for them both. Maybe it’s good, even. A vaccine against the neediness she knows she’s susceptible to.

Finn arrives. As they eat chips, she asks about Poe.

“It’s good. We’re taking it slow.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I thought you liked him. Isn’t that his jacket? That’s boyfriend-y.”

His face curves into a smile and he looks away, like he’s embarrassed. Or just thinking of some private slice of joy. “Eh. I don’t care about the labels. I just want chill. Not intense. No huge commitments or anything.”

She nods. Chews her carnitas. “I mean, I don’t think intense is necessarily bad,” she says, crunching into a radish slice. “Like, if you like him—” she makes her face neutral, not letting her Poe-annoyance show—“Why hold back? Just have fun.”

Finn looks at her closely for a second before shrugging, dripping salsa carefully down his taco. “I guess it’s just what you want.”

* * *

“You came,” Rey yells to Ben over Destiny's Child.

Ben frowns out at the club, looking irritated. “I hate this shit.”

“You’re a good friend to Poe.” She beams at him. “Oh, here you go.”

He looks at the vodka soda she hands him. He doesn’t even hide his grimace when he takes a sip. She figured he’d hate it. I know you, she thinks, watching as he drinks more of it.

His phone is bright in the club’s darkness. “Oh. You texted me.”

“Yep.” She moves her hips a little, putting her hands on him, trying to get him to dance.

He just stands there, looking uncomfortable. “Are you drunk?”

Not really. Enough for her brain to sprawl into new, dangerous thoughts. Enough to text him some decidedly unchill texts about his ETA.

“Do you want to dance?” Rey asks, already starting to pull him to the dance floor.

“I should probably say happy birthday to—”

“You can. Later.” She stops them in the middle of the dance floor, throwing her hands around his neck. It’s a slower song. He can handle it. The air feels thick with and warm, filled with the scent of the people around them.

They sway together for a little bit. His arms stretch to grab her ass, pulling it against his crotch.

“This is okay,” he says, smiling down at her. “Have you ever seen the video for this? When she’s texting with Excel?”

“What?” she says, distracted, thinking. “No.”

“You’re too young for me.”

She stares at him, thinking and thinking. A thought occurs to her as she looks at him. Her three vodka sodas insist that she vocalize it.

He’s still talking. “I mean, not really—”

“You’ve never said no.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like. When I text you to hang out.” It seems like the most significant thing in the world. “You always say yes.”

She’s immediately embarrassed about how relieved she sounds, like she’s marveling at the fact that someone would want to spend time with her. Her low expectations, low self-esteem. Something she needs to work on.

He looks past her, his grip shifting on her. She barely hears him over the music. “Uh. Should I? Do you not—”

Relief swims through her. She looks at his ears and then she’s smiling again. And then several thoughts after that pop in her brain, one after the other. You let me avoid the things I don’t want to talk about, which actually makes me want to tell you about them. When I stop hanging out with you, I don’t feel tired. You know that I’m—you know me.

Someone else’s warm skin bumps her. He pulls her closer. They don’t talk, and she just enjoys the slight overwhelm of it all. The music. The feel of his clothing against her. The random bump of their bodies.

Eventually, she notices a girl. Objectively hot, staring at Ben with drunken, honest desire. Rey shifts a little closer to Ben, stretching her arms up a little more, to play with the back of his hair. She realizes she’s feeling the opposite of how she did at that other bar, with the older couple. Rey wants this girl to think that she and Ben are the most boring couple imaginable. That they just rewatch sitcoms and stare into each other's eyes, whisper sweet nothings while Michael Bublé plays. That they’re so earnest, so wholesomely devoted to each other that no, they don’t even need sex.

But it might not need to be one or the other. It can be both, maybe. Intensity without toxicity. Their possessive, clingy sex, followed by the easy conversations about dumb stuff they have after, their faces mashed into the pillows, smiling at each other. They could keep the dirtiness of their sex, underpin it with the steadiness of how much they want each other, how they return to each other week after week. Transmute the cravings they have into something real.

Like now. Their possessiveness dragged into public. Her subtly hauling him closer, one eye on the girl. The arm around her waist dipping into her pocket to grab her ass. Obvious signs, from both of them: I like you I like you I like you. Rey wants to revel in the feeling, but she’s greedy now. Wants to keep the feeling for longer, to stay in this halfway place, where all of them can exist. Where she can be scared and want to present him with a list of her flaws, but instead, just remind herself: he always says yes. Maybe she could, too.

Don’t do that, a voice in her head shrieks. You have issues. Remember? You have to work on yourself more. Sand down your fearfulness and eagerness, buff away the lingering don’t-leave-me residue underneath everything else. You’re not allowed to have this yet—

“It’s really warm. Are you warm?” Ben’s voice, irritated and hesitant, interrupts the barrage. He shifts uncomfortably, glaring at someone who bumps him. “Are you staying a long time, you think? Or are you going to stay here with Finn?”

Rey lets the thoughts float away on a cloud of vodka sodas. We can leave soon, she replies. A few more songs, maybe? Sure, he agrees. For now, they just continue swaying.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun to write! Here are some things I was thinking about while writing this, or that share some similarities with this:
> 
> [This classic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095987), which is one of my all-time Reylo fave
> 
> [This tweet](https://mobile.twitter.com/DarkMageXIII/status/1345509475394863107) about Ben not being a morning person
> 
> [QueenOfCarrotFlowers’](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfCarrotFlowers/pseuds/QueenOfCarrotFlowers) characterizations, especially w/r/t a more sub Ben, have been very influential in how I think about these two! 
> 
> Some other fun commitment-y roleplays from [Becca](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419597) and [midnightmorningcoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944424/chapters/63064456)
> 
> [This advice column response](https://theoutline.com/post/6808/ask-a-fuck-up-not-ready-to-date?utm_source=contributor_pages)
> 
> Guess who listened to a (very enlightening) [podcast on Iran-Contra](https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/iran-contra/id1380008439?i=1000465289970) this month!!
> 
> You can find me [here](https://twitter.com/kalx58), Tweeting from my Excel phone


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